


Kiss Me, Kick Me

by RA Couture (rachcouture)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Affection, Allegory, Anal Sex, Biting, Blood, Confessional Sex, Confessions, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cultural References, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fever Dreams, First Kiss, Gentle Kissing, Horror, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kissing, Knifeplay, Light Bondage, Metaphors, Neck Kissing, Ritual Sex, Rituals, Role Reversal, Rough Sex, Sadism, Scarification, Sex, Spoilers, Strap-Ons, Sweat, Torture, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 12:12:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11509191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachcouture/pseuds/RA%20Couture
Summary: Two Doman outcasts. Tables turn. Unveiled similarities. Twisted love ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An erotic tribute to post-war Japanese cinema, loosely inspired by _Hoichi the Earless_ , third story in Masaki Kobayashi's _Kwaidan_.

Red candlelight exposes wood and paper dividers in the darkness -- traditional interior Doman architecture. Incense and opium smoke fills the air; drifts, heavy and wet. It's hard to breathe.

Where the hearth should be dangles Yotsuyu on morbid display. Black lace panties cling to her hips, hair over the breasts -- vague modesty spared. Woven rope binds Yotsuyu tight by the ankles; wrists, too, wound up and around the rafters like an offering to a profane goddess. Ligatures form underneath.

Close to her front stands Sayuri Taichi, 27, former officer, companion. A lithe raen with dusky lavender complexion and pale hair to match, lotus pink tips highlighting razor cuts and traditional tails. Glowing limbrals surround deep jade green eyes centered on a deceivingly doll-like face.

Hauntingly beautiful, clothed in delicate robes of blinding white chiffon. False purity.

Sayuri glances over the tools of her trade, contemplative. They're laid out on an adjacent side table. "I've waited so long for this moment."

"After everything I spared you from?" Underlying fear betrays Yotsuyu's somber grin. "Strange way to thank m-"

Hands slam hard against carved wood. Blades clink against each other. "Shut. Up."

Yotsuyu winces; doesn't say another word.

Sayuri turns around, spite in her eyes. "You made me into a monster, and for what? So you wouldn't have to get your hands more bloody than they already are?" She scoffs. "Should be grateful I don't slit your throat and be done with it."

"Is that what you want?"  
  
"No." Low platform geta clap slow against the floorboards. "Death is too kind for you."

Sayuri stands inches away from Yotsuyu now. She holds an ornate ceremonial dagger in one hand -- sharp, beautiful.

The flat end of the blade dances along Yotsuyu's bare stomach. She tenses, trembles. Hairs raise.

"I'd rather you suffer. Suffer in blissful agony, so you finally know what it's like." Their eyes meet. Sayuri muses, wistful. "Wonder how long you'll last... twelve hours? Twenty-four? Fourty-eight?" Shakes her head. "Guess it doesn't matter; I'll savor every moment regardless."

Cold steel slices deep into porcelain complexion.


	2. Chapter 2

Hours pass, but the darkness remains. Night never ends.

Elaborate art and scripture spans the entirety of Yotsuyu's body, every inch carved with delicate, time-consuming precision. Blood drips downward from each etching; it soaks the floorboards in pools below, candles encircling. Forbidden shrine rituals.

The crack of a whip has her eyes shot wide open. Smeared eyeliner and mascara stains her cheeks. She yelps in pain.

Again, but harder; skin breaks. Yotsuya screams, whimpers. The wound joins several others across her back -- Sayuri's handiwork continued in full.

Sayuri laughs -- breathy -- shrine attire soaked with Yotsuyu's blood. "Have we finally found your limit?"

Yotsuyu drifts in and out; doesn't say anything.

Leather claps against wood. Footsteps follow. Sayuri stands behind Yotsuyu now, arms gentle around the waist. She leans in; rests her head against Yotsuyu's back, and exhales. Takes in the scent of blood, cold sweat, expensive perfume. "Turns out you can dish it, but can't take it. Somehow I'm not surprised."

"Why should I have to?" The tension in Yotsuyu's body melts. Any comfort would do. "This isn't the first time I've been a slave."

"... go on."

"I was the unwanted child from birth. Forced to slave away while my brother was treated like a king." She sighs. "Wed off to a man that beat me night and day; denigrated me. I was his worthless whore." Laughs in defeat. "He was in debt into death, you know."

"Was he?" This is said knowingly.

Yotsuyu nods. "Sold to a pleasure house in the end. At least my body had worth, even if it wasn't _really_ mine." Shakes her head. "Do what you want with me, Sayuri; I can't feel anything anymore."

Lotus pink lips brush against battered skin. Nothing else is said.

 

* * *

 

Yotsuyu's tired eyes open to Sayuri at her front. Sayuri stares back, sympathetic. She has a hand cupped to Yotsuyu's tear-stained cheek.

"You really are beautiful..." Sayuri leans in, lips inches apart; hesitates.

Yotsuyu doesn't. She bridges the gap, kisses Sayuri on the lips with withering strength. Sayuri kisses back after a pause. Showers Yotsuyu in them, bites in between. Moves down the jaw, then the neck, hand dropped to the opposite side, another at Yotsuyu's hip. Yotsuyu exhales with pent-up relief.

Blood-soaked chiffon floats to the floor. Skin meets skin.

Sayuri runs a hand down Yotsuyu's stomach, to her crotch and under black lace: spread labia, thumb to the clit. Finger fucks her without a second thought. Holds Yotsuyu by the waist for support -- affection, bites and kisses along the neck.

 

* * *

 

They're on the floor now, Yotsuyu's hands and ankles still bound, panties dragged down around the thighs. Sayuri embraces, spoons her from behind; fucks her with an ornately carved strap-on, arm around, fingertips teasing at the clit. Smeared makeup can't mask the blush on Yotsuyu's cheeks.

"I hate you so much..."

Yotsuyu nods. "Show me. Don't hold back."

She gasps in pain as her ass is penetrated without warning. Sayuri rails her without mercy. Moans fade into pathetic whimpering, pleasure/pain ratio switched -- limit passed. Yotsuyu doesn't ask her to stop; doesn't want to. Endures, damp black hair wrapped around her face half pressed against the blood-soaked floorboards.

An orgasm tears through Yotsuyu minutes later. She trembles in Sayuri's embrace.


	3. Chapter 3

Lengthy manicured nails comb through damp black hair.

Bandaging covers the entirety of Yotsuyu underneath a red silk robe, lush higanbana embroidery. She lays fresh-faced next to Sayuri in a low profile bed dressed in white. Doesn't stir, tired eyes shut firm. Candles and incense remain.

Sayuri wears a deep green silk slip. Her body radiates with warm, regenerative aether; it seeps into Yotsuyu held gentle.

Yotsuyu whimpers, wriggles closer to Sayuri. Keeps her eyes closed. "... do you think we could do this again?"

"If you'd like to." This isn't answered immediately.

"I would." Yotsuyu nuzzles into Sayuri's chest, comfortably miserable. "Turns out I _can_ feel something."

Sayuri tightens her embrace. The candles blow out in a chilling breeze.  **END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Sayuri is the Japanese word for the orange lily. In Hanakotoba (Japanese language of flowers), the orange lily represents hatred/revenge. Taichi comes from Kiwako Taichi, Japanese actress (Kaneto Shindo's _Kuroneko_ ).
> 
> In Japanese culture, Higabana is oft considered a funerary flower.
> 
> Yotsuyu is (for me) a fabulously sympathetic antagonist, and a surprisingly accurate fit with my player character; I couldn't resist exploring these two together, even briefly.


End file.
